“Do you? You do not appear to.”
Amelia sighed and he could tell that in that moment she wished that he had not found her. It was clear by the look on her face that she considered him to be an imposition, an impediment to her desired course of action. It hurt to have her think of him in such a way, but he could not sit by and watch her throw herself away no matter how much she loved her sister.
“Henry is pursuing the other trail that led off back toward the road. We are to meet each other back in the village to share what we have discovered.”
“The man that Henry is following is a very dangerous man. He killed the healer and he absolutely knows something about Grace’s abduction. It could be days or even weeks to where he is going. If the man discovers that Henry is following him, he will not hesitate to kill him.”
“And yet you chased after him as if it was a matter of little regard for your wellbeing.” Tristan shook his head in a mixture of disapproval and exasperation.
Amelia shot him a look that said for him to cease with his murmurings and he clamped his teeth shut in order to keep from speaking further on the matter. He was angry with her for what she had done, and he did not see it easing any time soon, not until she began acting with more care for her own personal safety. She in turn was angry with him for being angry and protective. He knew that in her mind he did not hold the right to feel such, but he could not cease from being so no matter what she felt.
“We will meet Henry in the village, then return to Canterley with whatever information we have managed to acquire. Jonathan and your father need to be made abreast of the situation as it stands. It is time that we were all working together, not running about in secret.” Tristan leveled a meaningful look at Amelia, hinting that it was time that she was held accountable to someone besides himself for her reckless behavior.
Amelia glared at him in rebellious fury but said nothing. He knew she did not wish to return to Canterley where her father would relegate her to sitting at home waiting for news, but he could not risk further harm coming to her and it was clear that she was not going to listen to him about anything. She was blinded by her love for Grace and could no longer see reason. Not that she has seen reason from the beginning of this venture.
“Should we not follow Henry, to be sure that he does not come to harm?”
“It is likely that once the man reached the road, Henry will have lost the trail. He will probably be waiting for us in the village before we arrive.”
Amelia sighed and rubbed her hands over her face. “So, I have lost him then. The best possible opportunity to find Grace’s kidnappers since our failure in the north of Scotland is lost to us.”
“That is probable, yes, but we will not know until we meet Henry.”
“Very well. We will go to the village and see what he has to say, but if he knows who the man is or where he is gone, I will not be returning to Canterley.”
Tristan bit his tongue as anger flared within him. He fought the urge to argue with her and decided to save his energy for the time when it would be needed. “We shall see.”
“Yes, we shall,” Amelia retorted stubbornly. Lying down upon the ground she wrapped herself up inside of her blanket and closed her eyes, turning her back to Tristan. She fell asleep nearly as quickly as her head lay down upon the saddle.
Malcolm chuckled from across the fire. “Do you find our dispute amusing?” Tristan asked in challenge.
“Aye, I do, but nae for the reason ye think.”
“And what reason is that?”
“Ye love each other but are tae afraid tae admit it. Ye use everythin’ around ye tae keep yerselves from actin’ on yer feelings. It is clear tae everyone but yerselves. The things ye argue about are nae amusin’ in themselves, they are serious and heartbreakin’ tae be sure, my amusement lies in the merry dance ye are leadin’ each other on. It would be so much simpler and better for ye both if ye just admitted tae each other how ye felt and gave each other the comfort that ye both need.”
“And you claim to know this about us after one conversation?”
“Aye, that and all Amelia told me o’ her life afore comin’ here.”
“She told you of her childhood? Her family?”
“Aye, she did.”
“She would not do so if she did not trust you and she does not trust anyone easily. How is it that you have garnered her trust in such a brief time?”
“With some people ye just ken who ye can trust and who ye cannae.”
Tristan studied the man’s face and knew that he spoke the truth. He had an honest quality to his eyes that Tristan rather liked. “Yes, I suppose that is true.”
“Amelia’s face is an honest one. She cannae hide her thoughts or feelings as her eyes tell ye all that lies beneath.”
“Yes, that is quite true,” Tristan smiled. “It has brought her no small amount of trouble in her life.”
“Aye, I can see how that would be so among the nobility, poor lass.”
“Yes, poor lass, indeed,” Tristan copied the man’s phrase. He appreciated the endearing quality of it. He traced the lines of Amelia’s form in the firelight with his eyes. How many years have I loved this woman and hidden it from all including myself whenever possible? How many times has my tongue been stilled by an impatient or irritated look from her when I attempted to broach the subject? If anything were to happen to her…
“I will help ye tae protect her,” Malcolm’s voice broke through Tristan’s thoughts as if he could read their very essence. “If she attempts tae run away again I will be there by her side and will send word tae ye o’ it. I will act as if I am returnin’ home but will keep watch instead. If the man she seeks comes back for her or she goes tae chase after him, I will ken it. She will ne’er ken I am there.”
Tristan studied his face gauging whether to trust a stranger with such a task, but he could not escape the feeling deep down that this man was a friend no matter the short period of time they had known each other. Besides that, it had become clear that he and Henry could use the extra help with Fergus gone back to Canterley. Fergus had had a way with Amelia that no one else did. He had seen a similar fondness in her eyes for Malcolm in spite of the short time they had been in each other’s company.
Perhaps I should have been born a Scotsman. They appear to be the only men that she will listen to, Tristan quipped in silent amusement.
“Very well,” he nodded in acceptance of Malcolm’s offer. “I warn you that she may feel betrayed by the action.”
“Better that she feel betrayed than that she is killed by one o’ those cuddies she’s been chasin’ after.”
“Indeed. I will take first watch if you wish to get some sleep.”
“Aye, wake me when it is time.”
Tristan nodded and Malcolm lay down much as Amelia had done and was snoring in very little time at all. Tristan sat alone and listened to the sounds of the forest. He heard his horse snort in the darkness and arose to move it with Malcolm’s horses. He offered it a handful of oats and a drink of water from the nearby mountain stream. The water was cold, turning the air above it cool. He breathed in the fresh forest smells and felt the tension in his body ease.
His horse snorted again, and Tristan ran his hand over the equine’s muzzle. “We found her, old boy. She is safe and sound, for now.” The horse bobbed his head, nuzzling for more oats in his pockets. Tristan smiled and gave it another handful. He rubbed its forehead between the ears affectionately. “The real question lies in how we will keep her that way.”
Tristan’s thoughts turned back to his conversation with Malcolm. “She will not sit at home and wait for the ransom, no matter the risk to her person, or to any of the rest of us for that matter.” The horse snorted as if in agreement. “We have no choice but to trust the Scot.”
The sound of a twig snapping behind him alerted him that he was not alone. He looked toward the fire and saw that Malcolm and Amelia had not moved. He slipped the knife from its sheath in his boot and prepared to meet
the intruder.
Chapter 19
Tristan waited knife in hand listening to the sounds of an approaching horse in the darkness. The noise the creature was making were not the least bit stealthy. It clattered through the forest with such disregard that it awakened Malcolm. Tristan raised his hand in caution to the Scotsman who nodded his head in understanding and slipped backwards into the darkness pistol in hand.
When the horse finally emerged into the fire’s light Tristan could not believe his eyes. Pericles! It was Amelia’s horse, riderless, and limping. Tristan waited for a few moments longer to ensure that the horse was truly alone. It walked over to the other horses and nuzzled up against Tristan’s hand. “Hello,” he murmured. “Where have you been?”
Malcolm appeared at his elbow. He moved so silently Tristan had not known he was near until he spoke. “There is nae one about.”
Tristan nodded. He fed and watered the steed, then moved to check its hoof and leg to ascertain why it was limping. He cleaned a stone from its shoe and found evidence of tenderness where he assumed another stone must have been in the recent past. He did not have the supplies to adjust the shoe so that it would keep it from catching more stones, but he hoped that removing what it had caught and allowing it to rest would keep any further damage from taking place until the adjustment could be made.
“Amelia will be pleased at his return. She is very fond of the horse.”
“The lass could use some good news.”
“Yes, she could. Let us not wake her though. She needs her rest.”
“Aye, the poor wee thing was quite unwell when we first found her.”
“What happened?”
Malcolm told him of all that had transpired since he and his brother had found Amelia lying upon the ground at the edge of a lake. “How she came tae be there I dinnae ken, but she said she was chasin’ after the cuddie who poisoned her. She was delirious, mumblin’ about her sister, Grace. She thought that we had had a hand in it at first, much as ye did when ye first came upon us.”
“I apologize for that.”
“Nae, think nothin’ o’ it. I was glad tae see that she still had someone tae look after her.”
“Always.”
* * *
Henry followed the trail to the east, leaving Tristan to work his way north. He was not nearly as skilled as Tristan, but he had been on his fair share of hunts having an estate on the Anglo-Scottish border. He did his very best, but it was not good enough and he lost the trail when it intersected with the road. Frustrated, he turned back toward the village. Hopefully, Tristan has had better fortune than I in his pursuit.
He traveled along the road, his thoughts consumed with Grace. It was all that he had been able to think about since her kidnapping. He was filled with more anger than he had ever felt before in his entire life and he hated every moment of it. It was not within his character to be filled with such fury or hatred toward anything, but the kidnappers had done just that. He feared that by the time Grace was returned to him that the loving compassionate man he had once been would be unrecognizable.
If I ever get my hands on the men who took her… Henry could not finish the thought. His rage ran so high he could not pick from the myriad of ways in which he wished to punish the men who had taken the woman that he loved.
When he arrived at the village, he headed straight for the stable to ensure that Mr. Johnson had returned the horse as promised. Upon confirming the stablemaster’s receipt of the horse, Henry went in search of the magistrate.
“Yes, Mr. Johnson did report the death of the old healer in the forest. It appears that the poor woman fell and hit her head. Not an unusual way for a person of such advanced years to die, is it?” The magistrate brushed off Henry’s concerns as if they were nothing but fancy. “We buried her in a pauper’s grave in the cemetery as she had no family of her own to provide for her.”
Henry wished to argue with the magistrate, but he had no actual proof of misdeed by either the healer or anyone else. Sighing, he nodded and left the magistrate’s office. I suppose he could be right in his assessment of the old healer’s death, but I do not believe that he is. It is unlikely to be a coincidence all things considered, but to share my suspicions with the magistrate would go against Grace’s ransom demands placing her in further danger. The idea of a murderer going free did not settle well with him, but there was no proof either way.
Henry walked to the inn and sat down in the tavern at a table by the window. He ordered a pint of ale and a meat pie. He searched the faces in the room looking for anyone suspicious. If a man had just committed a murder one would expect him to be restless, nervous, furtive. The same would be true of a kidnapper as well. Henry searched the eyes of each and every man present but found more restless and unhappy looking men than he could sort through.
The tavern was littered with veterans of the Napoleonic Wars with their battle scars. Conversations ebbed and flowed around the room ranging from war stories to local gossip to politics. Nothing hinted at criminal conspiracy such as murder or kidnap. Sitting there alone, he downed a bit too much ale in an effort to drown his feelings. Hours passed with no sign of Tristan.
Tired, his heart aching for the woman who was to have been his bride by now, he retired to his room and attempted to claim the oblivion of sleep. His mind conjured an idealized image of Grace lying next to him upon the bed, her sweet face ringed with a riot of dark curls. He reached out to caress her cheek but met only air. The image melted away returning him to the empty loneliness of his room.
“Grace,” he whispered, her name catching in his throat. The pain felt as if it might suffocate him. When he finally drifted off to sleep his dreams were filled with an empty space where Grace should have been.
* * *
When Amelia awoke in the morning, she found Tristan and Malcolm already packing up camp. Malcolm handed her a bannock, while Tristan took her saddle and readied her borrowed horse. She watched him walk over to the horses and gasped in delight. “Pericles!” She scrambled to her feet and walked over to her beloved horse. “I thought I had lost you forever.”
“You will not be able to ride him today. His foot is bruised from a stone stuck in his hoof. When we return to the village, I will have the stablemaster properly tend to him,” Tristan informed her. “We will take a slower pace so that he does not risk harming himself further.”
“How did you find him?”
“He found us last night while you were sleeping. He was probably drawn by the smell of smoke and the other horses.”
Tears filled Amelia’s eyes. She knew it was a bit overly emotional of her to cry over such a thing when there were much larger issues of concern, but she could not help herself. “It is an omen,” she whispered.
“An omen?”
“A sign that Grace will be returned to us.”
“You have never believed in such things before.”
“I never needed to before.”
Malcolm came up beside them. “Ye believe in what e’er ye need tae believe in, lass. Ye do what e’er it takes tae keep hope in yer heart.”
Tristan frowned. “No amount of pagan superstition is going to bring Grace back.”
“I am well aware, Tristan,” Amelia bit out. “I am not completely mad. I simply wished to believe in something good for a moment, just a moment of happiness in the torment that now inhabits every aspect of our lives.”
“My apologies,” Tristan replied, an unreadable expression on his face. “Such notions are simply out of character for you.”
“Malcolm and his family have reminded me of the importance of such things, and I am attempting not to lose myself completely. Grace should come home to the sister that she loves, not the mad woman of the woods I am becoming.”
Tristan looked at Malcolm in surprise. Amelia turned away to gather her blankets and heard Tristan murmur to the Scotsman, “Thank you for doing what I could not.”
“Give her time, lad. She’s heartbroken now, but she wil
l nae be forever.”
“I pray to God that you are right, Malcolm. I pray to God that you are right.”
Amelia paused in her labors, her breath catching in her throat. As do I, her heart whispered in reply.
* * *
“Henry,” Grace awoke from a dream of her beloved to the cold hard stone of her prison. “Oh, Henry,” she sobbed at the loss of his visage.
The sounds of her captors talking just outside of the door drew her attention and she edged quietly over to the broch’s entrance. She pressed herself against the wall so that she would remain unnoticed. “The sister, Lady Amelia, survived the poisoning, but just barely. She has been slowed down considerably and will not be causing us anymore trouble if I have my guess. The healer has been dealt with. She will speak of nothing ever again.”
The Haunted Knight 0f Lady Canterley Page 16